Shpandoinkle
by Nicolette C-137
Summary: humorous oneshots
1. Under The Bleachers

**Disclaimer: I do not own South Park or any of the following characters.**

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 **Under The Bleachers**

"What's up, dude?" Kenny muffled, as he approached the bleachers, under which Christophe was already smoking his third cigarette of today's lunch period. The goth kids were there, too, but they always stood far away from everyone else; keeping to themselves.

Christophe scoffed. "I'll tell you what eez up." He gestured toward the sky.

Kenny immediately regretted asking, as Christophe plunged into another hateful speech about God; who Kenny silently thanked, when someone tapped him on the shoulder, and asked him for a cigarette; saving him from this "godawful" one-sided conversation (pun totally intended).

Ironically, that person happened to be the Antichrist.

"Give it a rest." The high pitch of Damien's voice always through Kenny off. "I'm the _son of Satan,_ and you don't see _me_ bitching about God 24/7."

Kenny sacrificed one of his cigarettes to the aforementioned deity, and attempted to light it, but reflexively pulled back, as a flame burst out of seemingly nowhere. Damien had conjured it pyrokinetically. He brought his flaming fingertip to the cigarette between his pursed lips, and lit the cherry like a BAMF.

"Wish I could do that," Kenny said, flicking his ashes. "Wanna trade powers?"

"No, thank you. I'm already immortal."

"By the way, I ran in to your dad, earlier. He told me to say 'hi' to you."

"You already died once, today?"

"Once?" Kenny scoffed. "Try _twice."_

"Ouch." Damien winced sympathetically. "Well, next time you die, tell him I said 'hello.'"

"Ran into Pip, too," Kenny continued. "He wants you to join him for a tea party, next time you're in Hell."

Damien rolled his eyes, bringing his cigarette to his lips, but the sound of laughter snapped his attention back to Christophe. "What's so funny?" He attempted to sound intimidating, but his falsetto voice betrayed him.

"Sorry," Christophe insincerely apologized, still smirking around his cigarette. "I just imagined ze son of Satan, having a tea party in Hell." The way he worded it, Kenny couldn't help but laugh, too.

"Shut up," Damien muttered, pale face turning red.


	2. Pron

**Disclaimer: I do not own South Park or any of the following characters.**

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 **Pron**

"Stoley got me into hentai," Clyde explained, flipping through Kenny's _Playboy_. Kenny didn't have a computer at home, but his father had always kept stacks of old magazines lying around, which Kenny would help himself to and conveniently "forget" to return. "I didn't think I'd be into it, 'cause it's cartoons, y'know?, but it's pretty cool."

Kenny always talked to Clyde and Butters about chicks and porn, since Stan preoccupied himself only with Wendy, Kyle was prude, and Cartman was probably gay (for aforementioned prude). Surprisingly, Butters watched more porn than Kenny and Clyde put together ( _"Back Door Sluts 9"_ really got him hooked; and onto some kinky shit, to say the least).

"Aww," Cartman cooed, leaning over the back of their seat, wearing that aggravating smirk. "Are you two bonding over tentacle porn?"

"I wasn't watching _tentacle_ porn!" Clyde defended, though Kenny guessed he may have been lying, by the way his face instantly turned red.

"Whatever, fags." Cartman disappeared into his own seat, though Butters' head popped up a second later.

"Hey, fellas!"

"Hey, Butters," Kenny said, "have you seen Liane Cartman's new scheisse video?"

"Shut up, Kinny. Don't make me hop over this seat and kick your ass," was Cartman's empty threat.

"Did she really make another video?!"

"Nah, I was just messin' with Cartman."

"Aw, hamburgers."

"You're into some fucked up shit," Clyde noted. "Literally..."

"I'm seriously, guys... Stop talking about my mom."


	3. Never Have I Ever

**Disclaimer: I do not own South Park or any of the following characters.**

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 **NEVER HAVE I EVER**

They guys had just begun to gather in a circle on the floor of Cartman's basement, at Clyde's suggestion of playing "Never Have I Ever." Everyone was prepared—solo cup of PBR in-hand—when Butters predictably asked, "How do you play?"

"Okay, so, it's like this..." Cartman said, plopping down between Kyle and Kenny; allowing himself the honor of explaining the rules of the game, as well as taking the first turn (he thought it best to teach by example). "...I say, 'Never, have I ever,' and then follow up with something I've never done. If anyone in the room _has_ done it, they have to take a drink. So, never, have I ever..." Everyone waited as he tried to think of something that he'd specifically never done. "Um..."

"Well...?" Kyle pressed.

"Shut up, Kahl. I'm trying to think... Um... Uhhhhh—"

"Well, I'll take my turn, while you think," he said. "Never, have I ever, eaten _twelve_ tacos in one sitting." Cartman furrowed his eyebrows at Kyle, taking a swig of his drink. Unsurprisingly, Clyde followed suit. "And that's how the game is played." Kyle directed his attention to Butters.

"Neat-o! Can _I_ go next?"

"Sure."

"Never, have I ever... Um..." Butters tapped his knuckles together. "Oh, I know...! Never, have I ever, killed someone!" Everyone narrowed their eyes at Butters, with the exception of a certain someone.

"You have to ask more realistic questions," Kyle explained. "You can't just name something that obviously nobody's done."

"Oh..."

"I mean, who would..." Kyle trailed off, as Cartman took another sip of beer. "Yeah, right... When have you ever _murdered_ anyone?"

"Don't ask questions you don't want the answers to, Kahl."

"Whatever... Who's next?"

"Never, have I ever, had a threesum," Clyde admitted. All eyes were on Kenny before he even took a sip.

"This game sucks," Stan complained. "I'm not getting wasted."

"That's 'cause you're not experienced enough," Kenny explained in a bragging tone, insisting he go next. "Never, have I ever... had sex with someone of the same gender."

Tweek and Craig, were the only ones to drink, but Kenny noticed the twitch of Cartman's hand—the sound of ice tapping against glass—and had to repress a smirk.

"Stan's right, this is boring," Clyde said. "Why are we playing this?"

"It was _your_ idea," Craig reminded him.

"Oh, yeah."


End file.
